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Friday, September 4, 2009

flight of the spirit.

Many, many years ago, before Civilization had a word associated with it, a man looked at the sky overcome with jealousy as the birds drifted above. Flying and singing, flapping their wings, going up, coming down, swirling around. And the man started to flap his arms as if they were wings of his own. The day passed, and afternoon with it. The night came and his arms were too tired to lift anymore. The next day, he repeated the ridiculous tast, and he did this for several days until he could not bare the pain any longer, both psychically and mentally. He sat there for a moment, crying. Soaked in desolation and frustration, thinking: ”How is possible for others to play in the eternity of that endless sky while I am trapped to walk or crawl forever?" A few days past and the man’s arms nor spirits were getting any better, and so he journeyed to the home of the oldest man of the region. When he reached him, and explained his ailments, the old man simply smiled as he looked on helplessly and said, ‘I want to be able to fly but my arms do not know how. All I feel now is pain, because I tried for days and nights but it did not happen. I did not rise at all. My arms seem like old branches pointing to the ground. But my dream was set on the sky. What can I do?” And the wise man said “come and sit with me here, outside in the sun. Let’s see how those birds play. Give your arms some rest and I will teach you how to fly. “ The two sat in a beautiful valley, and watched as the old man spoke. “Focus on nothing and everything all at once. Open your heart to the sky, and you will feel no distance between you and those birds. The truth is young man, you are already flying.”